


Bluebird

by alantieislander



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Groping, HEA, Hand & Finger Kink, Happily Ever After, Semi-Public Sex, Teen Romance, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alantieislander/pseuds/alantieislander
Summary: That was the new normal. For weeks. He’d sit, he’d stare straight ahead, he’d rest his hand on her thigh. Occasionally his fingers would twitch, like he wanted to squeeze her. Once she wore jeans with holes, and his thumb toyed every so subtly with the frayed denim.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 42
Kudos: 251





	Bluebird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Celia_and](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celia_and/gifts).



> This is dedicated to Celia_And for all she writes, in all the beautiful ways, and especially for All The Time.
> 
> And as always, I couldn't do this without my wifey/beta Lane Reads. She just gets me - even when she has to correct most of my tenses. <3

[](https://imgur.com/UWFDcFz)

She doesn’t remember how it really started, but she remembers that they definitely weren’t dating yet. It was spring, when there was still old snow on the ground. It was junior year. The windows on the bus were foggy because of the moisture in the air and the heater under the seats. The bus was full that day, she doesn’t remember why. Maybe another bus broke down? Or maybe it was always that full, or maybe it wasn’t even full - no matter, the point is that Ben sat with her, which he’d never done before. 

They didn't know each other well. Rey was one of those bright and bubbly students who did drama, and band, and volunteered at the elementary school spelling bee. The kind of student nobody really had a reason to hate because they’re just so damn likeable.

Ben was - not that. He was always brooding, stalking through the halls a head above the rest, and every time he spoke in class it seemed like his goal was to 1- correct the teacher, 2- belittle the teacher, or 3- make everyone uncomfortable, and it was often all three. But he had straight A’s and VIP parents and everyone tolerated him for that reason.

Even Rey.

The day he sat with her, she shoved her nervous surprise into her backpack and smiled at him.

“Hi, Ben!”

He didn’t even look at her.

But the next day he sat with her again.

And the day after.

It was maybe three days, until that first day, the one that actually began everything. When he’d rested his hand on his leg, and his knuckles just lightly touched the outside of her thigh.

And that was how it went, every day, for a week. He’d sit, he’d ignore her, he’d put his knuckles against her leg. Joints against fabric, bone against muscle.

She never moved away, which, looking back now at her 16 year old self, kind of shocks her. Ben was intimidating, and she was a Good Girl. But she never pulled away, or tucked herself into a little ball against the metal window, or hell - asked another friend to sit with her so Ben couldn’t.

She always waited, with the empty seat next to her. Always waited for that silent moment as they bumped along to or from school, when his warm knuckles would press against her.

One day it was warm and she wore a skirt. His knuckles touched bare skin, and she heard his intake of breath, even over the rumble of the engine and the sound of traffic. Her heart pounded, begged her to breathe. She looked at him that day. His long hair hid his face, except for those lips, and that nose, and the furrowed brow over it.

And he looked back at her.

Ben was known for his dark eyes, the entire “angry kid” look. Some kids called him a school shooter behind his back. But the eyes that met hers were tentative, and warm. Hopeful, even? 

She was struck by him. He must’ve known. His eyes searched her face and looked at her lips. She’d never forget that. And then the knuckles turned into a warm palm on the fabric of her skirt, and warm fingers on her skin. He turned his attention back to the front of the bus as though he was miles away, and not touching her as though she belonged to him.

That was the new normal. For weeks. He’d sit, he’d stare straight ahead, he’d rest his hand on her thigh. Occasionally his fingers would twitch, like he wanted to squeeze her. Once she wore jeans with holes, and his thumb toyed every so subtly with the frayed denim.

She never ignored him on purpose, not really, but she also didn’t really acknowledge him, never attempted conversation, which– again, looking back – what was she thinking? She could’ve at least said hi? Or asked him a question? But something about it felt too special to cheapen with talk. He ignored her in every other place of their tiny community existence, but here, for the 15 minutes from his stop to school, and the 15 minutes from school to his stop, he was totally hers. Here in this quiet rumbly cocoon - she didn’t want to break it with words. She just wanted that buzzy feeling in her tummy when his enormous hand would rest heavy on her thigh like she was precious to him.

Then there was the day someone noticed. A little ninth grader with apparent aspirations of popularity. She ended up on the seat across the aisle from them and gaped at the affection she saw. Her eyes bulged and she screeched “oh my God, are you two dating?” before clapping her hand over her mouth, clearly filled with regret that she’d talk to Ben Solo like _that_ , or at all. He didn’t answer her either. Just gave her a withering, horrible look, and removed his hand.

Rey felt cold the whole way home.

He didn’t sit with her the next morning.

That afternoon, Rey made sure to grab a seat far away from the tittering ninth graders on the opposite side of the bus, and she watched Ben’s head appear as he climbed the stairs, the disappointment when he didn’t immediately see her, and then the resolution when he did. And she could tell - he was going to walk right past her. He lumbered down the aisle, gaze firmly on the back of the bus. But right as he got to her row, she’d reached out and pulled the corner of his jacket.

She remembers this day so well because of the surprised sound he made in his chest. She remembers it because she had said the first words to him since that first day.“Sit with me. Please.” He likes to say she whispered it, and sometimes when he tells the story he says she begged. But neither was true. She’d said it simply, firmly. Sit with me, please. It wasn’t a question, and it left nothing up for argument. So he did. 

He sat. He ignored her. 

She looked out the window. She waited.

The bus was only a block from the school when his hand gently landed on her leg. This time he squeezed it once. Then twice. And she smiled.

She remembers that day so well for other reasons, too, because that was the first day his fingers moved inward and traced the inside seam of her jeans from her knee, to halfway up her inner thigh, for the last seven minutes of the ride before Ben’s stop.

He did watch her in those first moments, gauging her reaction, her comfort level. And she knows if she’d looked at him, she would’ve seen a lot more than a boy trying to cop a feel. She would’ve seen affection, and a lot of wonder. He was falling, even he would say so, many years later, today, when it’s a story to be told with fond reminiscence, and not a secret to be kept in high school.

It escalated quickly after that, as things do. Soon his fingers were tapping on the knot of fabric that made up the crotch of jeans, the little denim button in the perfect place just above her clit, and when tapped - sent vibrations through her panties, through her skin and into the core of her. Like a guitar, he strummed her to make music. Her cheeks were flushed more often than not when she arrived at school those late spring days, and so were his. 

The first word he ever said was two months into their seating arrangement and three days after he started pressing against her clothed sex. It was an unhinged “oh my god,” falling from his lips when she wore leggings and he found the damp spot blooming under his attention. That was the same day she had lifted her hips and pushed more firmly into his hand, so he pushed the fabric between the lips of her vulva and into her clit. He looked at her face that day, his jaw slack, and she almost grabbed his hand to keep it firmly pressed against where it felt oh so good- even when the bus rumbled up to the high school’s curb. He smelled her hair before he pulled back, and shoved his fisted hands in the front pockets of his jacket to cover the bulge in his pants.

She wore a skirt the next day. He’d accepted the invitation with a nervous/eager shudder, gaze shifting back and forth between her bottom lip and the pure vision of her skirt rucked up around his wrist like a wave. The muscles in her thighs twitched when his finger slid in the slick of her opening, up to her clit. He did it again, and whispered “fuck— _Rey_ ” when her body jolted.

He kissed her temple before he gathered himself and got off the bus that day. He’d never not kiss her again.

There was one month left of school, and she spent most days riding to and from with his massive hand under the waistband of her underwear. Sometimes it was just a finger - his middle finger, always - in the crease of her. Other times he made her sit on it, sheathing it with her tightness as they bump along down the road, her muscles clenching at the stimulation. 

He never asked for the favor to be returned, but three days before summer break, she showed up at his house just after dinnertime, when the sun was casting long evening light and the summer birds were singing. She wore a sundress and her hair down around her shoulders. His parents weren’t home. The door opened and he stood there more unguarded than she’d ever seen him. 

“Hi,” he said, for the first time ever. His expression was pure light, it had made her gasp with the beauty of it. Then he took her hand.

The dress was on his bedroom floor within ten minutes.

That memory is bathed in gold, because from then on she was his, and he was hers. They never sat silent on the bus, or anywhere else, again. There were just too many things to talk about.

—

It’s been years. There’s been fond, respectable hands on her knee on their way to baptisms, or grandmother’s birthdays. There’s been promising hands, reaching up her skirt and holding the flesh of her inner thigh on their way home from a date, when her hand is on the back of his seat and she’s watching him drive and they’re both laughing. e’ll move his pinky just a little against the damp panties on the seam of her and she’ll say “Ben, oh my god, we’ll be home in four minutes,” and he’ll say “I can’t wait to suck on this perfect little clit of yours,” as he pushes aside her underwear to pet it just a few more times before they pull into their driveway. And she always gasps like she did the first time, because she’ll never get tired of his thick fingertip separating the folds of her vulva and pushing inside her where he belongs.

There was once that they were in stand-still traffic on the interstate - only one lane - and before his hand could even make its way to between her thighs, she wiggled out of her sweats, propped her left foot on the dashboard and played with her herself until she’d made the seat wet and he had to pull over at the first exit and fuck her. 

Sometimes he just cups her mound, holding the heat of her in his palm like he owns it. It sounds dirty, but it’s actually when Rey feels safest and most cherished, her pussy being held firmly by the man who's been at her side and in her bed for her entire adult life. She has always been precious to him, starting from her core to everything that she is.

And then there’s today. Today they are going to pick up their toddler at daycare and then take her to dinner and the playground. Rey is driving, the windows are down. It's the first warm spring day, and the air smells like earth. She places her hand on the swell of his cock that lies soft between his legs and she fiddles fondly with the fabric of his fly. He places his hand over hers, and just lets it rest there – safe.


End file.
